


Papaver and a Watermill

by tinyace



Series: 30's Alternate Universe [2]
Category: Carmilla (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Backstory, Other, Prequel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-25
Updated: 2015-03-04
Packaged: 2018-03-14 22:14:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3427484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinyace/pseuds/tinyace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a prequel to The Great Iron Sky. Specifically, the childhood years of JP and LaFontaine (where they still identified as Susan and therefore shall use the pronouns she/her). It’s about how their birthplace got destroyed by World War I, how Jean-Pierre joined the army and LaFontaine became a doctor. It also features how LaF and Carmilla met.</p><p>(Can be read separately, but it makes more sense if you read the original too).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Early Years

**Author's Note:**

> **Warnings** : homophobia, slurs, war, depiction of violence, and death
> 
>  **Notes** : Thanks to [Elli](http://ellianderjoy.tumblr.com) for editing! And special thanks to the [Dutch archive](http://www.wereldoorlog1418.nl/loopgraven/index.htm#a) with [Arthur Knaap's letters](http://www.wereldoorlog1418.nl/knaap/index.html) a.o. for giving me a better idea what the hell happened in World War I. (Please note that neither Elli nor I are experts on either history or war. Their might be errors in this fic).

_7 August 1906_ \- A soft summer breeze blows through the fields near Péronne. This is the last summer before Susan will join JP in elementary school. But school is about the last thing on Jean-Pierre’s mind, because it’s the perfect day to go for a swim. He has a big grin on his face as he runs the small distance between their houses. They both have large houses, and even larger gardens, just as most people do in this area. It’s the biggest contrast with the city. His smile gets wider when he sees the small gate in front of Susan’s house.

It takes all his strength to push the front-gate open, but at least it isn’t locked. He runs along the pebbled path, almost slipping. When he reached the door he has to stand and catch his breath for a moment before ringing the doorbell.

Almost immediately, the door is opened.

“Oh, hello Jean-Pierre,” Susan’s mother smiles. 

“Hello Mrs. LaFontaine, is Susan home?” Jean-Pierre asks.

She nods. “Yes, one moment please, I’ll get her.”

The door closes again and Jean-Pierre tries to balance on one foot to keep himself busy while he waits. After he has lost to himself about four times the door finally opens again.

“Hey JP!” Susan says.

“Susan, Susan look!” Jean-Pierre says excitedly and points at his mouth. “I lost a tooth!”

“Let me see!” Susan gasps and grabs JP’s chin to take a closer look.

After she has investigated it from several different angles she proclaims with a chuckle: “It’s so ugly!”

“Hey at least I’m already getting adult teeth!” he says with a proud smirk as Susan lets go of his chin again. “Do you want to play outside?”

“Mom, can I go play outside with JP?” Susan turns to her mother who is still standing in the hallway.

“I think his name is Jean-Pierre,” her mother says with a wink to JP.

JP turns red and mumbles, “It’s okay when Susan says it.”

“Fine,” Susan says with a sigh, not hearing JP. “Can I go play outside with _Jean-Pierre?_ ”

“Sure, but you remember what I said about the church bell, right? When it rings-“

“Five times I need to come home,” Susan finishes the sentence.

“And do you remember how to count to five?”

“Oh! I do!” Jean-Pierre says eagerly as he raises his hand.

“I do too!” Susan says. “And if I forget I can always count one ring for one finger! If I use my entire hand I need to come home.”

Her mother smiles at her. “Exactly. Have fun you two!”

Susan takes JP’s wrist and yanks him with her as she runs towards the gate.

“Oh, Mrs. LaFontaine! My mother sent her regards!” Jean-Pierre quickly says over his shoulder.

“You should send mine back!” she says as she waves them out.

Jean-Pierre gives her a nod before turning back to Susan and nudging her. “Race ya to the watermill!”

Susan lets go off his wrist and starts running at a faster pace. “Bring it!”

They run downhill, into the meadows towards a spot near the river. They can already see the old watermill, the wheel has been rotting ever since they discovered it, just like most of the old hut attached to it. Nobody seems to use or care about it, thus its appeal. Both Susan and JP start reaching out for stone brick wall to secure the win. Simultaneously they touch it and let themselves fall against the wall, out of breath. 

“You’re getting faster,” Jean-Pierre says breathless. 

“Sure am!” Susan says proud. “One day I’ll beat you a mile ahead.” 

JP gives her a smile. “Who gets to jump of the hut first this time?”

“ME!” Susan says as she jumps up and starts climbing the woodpile next to the small building. 

“Be careful!” JP exclaims when Susan almost slips of the pile. 

Susan gives him a smirk. “Don’t worry, you baby. I can handle it!”

She climbs on the roof and JP follows her. 

“I always forget how high it is,” JP gulps when they both stand on the roof. 

“But it is so much fun!” Susan says as she walks towards the edge of the mill. She has to make sure to jump far enough to fall into the water. 

“Stupid dress,” Susan mutters as she gathers the dress together. 

“Isn’t your mom going to be angry?”

Susan turns around and gives him a smirk. “Probably,” she says and then turns and leaps into the water.

\--

 _19 October 1912_ – With a heavy heart Susan stands in front of Jean-Pierre’s front door. She rings the bell and prays JP will open the door. Maybe she should’ve checked if his parents are home. Or if he was closest to the door. Or if- the front door opens.

“Hey- wow,” JP says, jaw dropping in shock. 

She swallows. She’s glad he opened, but it’s not the reaction she was hoping for. “Are your parents home?”

He shakes his head. “What did you-“

“Can we talk in your room or something?”

“Of course,” Jean-Pierre says and gestures for her to come inside.

They walk upstairs to JP’s room and Susan sits down on his bed while he closes the door.

“I’m sorry I reacted like that. It’s just new.”

Susan nods, more as a comforting gesture towards him. He means well.

He hesitantly sits down next to her. “Why did you cut your hair short?”

“I got sick of it and...” she shrugs. “I cut it.”

“When?”

“Just now,” Susan says in a shaky voice. “You’re the first person to see it.”

He nods slightly. 

“It’s not just the hair, you know,” Susan suddenly says and looks him in the eyes.

“Oh?” is his only response. 

“I don’t want to have long hair or wear these stupid dresses,” Susan says in a heated voice. “Why is it that I can’t wear pants? Or can’t have short hair? Or have to behave “lady-like”, whatever the fuck that means. Why don’t I have a choice? Why does society tell me what I need to wear?”

Her anger floats away and she gives him a desperate look.

“Hold on,” Jean-Pierre says thoughtfully and walks towards his closet. He rummages through it and gets out a pair of pants, a blouse and some old suspenders.

He hands the pile over to her and awkwardly says, “I eh… If you want, you could maybe try these on? I-I grew out of them months ago, but they might fit you.”

“Can I?” Susan asks unbelieving as she picks the clothes.

“Eh yeah, of course,” Jean-Pierre says as he scratches the back of his head. “You can change in my bathroom.”

A soft smile appears on her face. “Thanks.”

It takes a while before Susan enters the room again. The pants are definitely too long and the blouse is a bit too wide, but it fits. Jean-Pierre looks at her in silence and Susan stands awkwardly in the doorway between the bathroom and bedroom.

“Those suspenders are hell to put on,” Susan says with an awkward laugh to break the silence.

JP laughs and the tension is released. “I know. It took me a while to get the hang of it.”

He stands up and gestures towards the long sleeves of the pants. “We should probably cuff those.”

She sighs. “I tried, but they unroll every time.”

“May I?”

Susan nods and JP bends down and starts carefully rolling up the pants. His movements are confident and deft, obviously used to a task repeated many times before.

“Now you won’t trip and break your neck at least,” he says as he stands up again. 

“That’d be nice.”

She sighs as she looks in his eyes. “My mom is going to be so angry with me, JP.”

Jean-Pierre nods. “She will.”

“That’s not helping.”

“Well, we both know she is going to be shocked,” JP says. “Lets hope she doesn’t throw things at you.”

“Or disown me.”

JP notices the pain in her tone and thinks for a moment. “One second,” he says as he turns to his closet again.

“What are you doing?”

He gets out a bow tie and holds it out to her. “Don’t you want to make a good first impression?”

Susan eyes soften. “Well yeah, but I don’t think she’s going to notice what with the haircut and wardrobe change.”

JP shrugs as he starts putting it on her. “Might be a tie-breaker.”

Susan smirks. “Bow tie-breaker.”

He laughs and starts moving the tie in what seems to Susan to be the most complicated pattern ever.

She looks at him with a pained expression. “You haven’t told me how I look.”

Jean-Pierre looks up for a second. “I shouldn’t be judging how you want to look.”

“But what do you _think?_ ”

“It’s definitely different,” JP says while giving one last nudge to the bow tie. He looks at her and smiles. “But I like it.”

A wave of relief floats over her.

“Thanks JP.”

\--

“Mom, I’m home,” she says hesitantly, stepping delicately through the doorway.

“Okay, honey,” she says as she doesn’t even look up from her cooking.

Susan awkwardly stands still in the kitchen, because she kinda needs her mother to look at her. Her mother seems to notice after Susan hasn’t moved yet.

“Is someth-” she turns around and her eyes widen in shock. “Susan what have you done!”

“I-I cut off my hair,” she stutters. 

“No, no, NO!” her mother yells. “You look hideous! What will the whole village think of you now?”

Her chest hurts at the insult, but she tries her best to not show it. “Why should I care?”

“Oh you better care! Nobody will recognize you as a girl!”

That was the point.

“Now you look like one of those homosexuals!”

She scoffs. “Since when does cutting your hair mean being a homo?”

“It’s not just the hair, it’s everything!” her mother yells. “Is that… Are those _Jean-Pierre’s_ clothes?”

“Yes they are,” Susan says and awkwardly straightens up to look more proud. “And he generously gifted them to me.”

Her mother furiously shakes her head and tears are in her eyes. “My little girl-” she covers her mouth. “I can’t-”

She glances at Susan one more time. “I… I c-can’t deal with this.”

With tears in her eyes she brushes past her and leaves the kitchen.

Susan stands frozen in the kitchen and stares straight ahead. She can hear a door slam shut and hears her mother’s sobs coming all the way upstairs, from her bedroom. Susan takes a shaky breath and plucks at her new hair, trying to ignore the pit in her stomach.

At least she didn’t throw anything.

\--

 _1 August 1914_ \- With a sigh Susan rests her head against a bookcase. Jean-Pierre took a job as Junior Record Clerk in the local library for the summer. She was excited for him, until she realized it meant he would be spending the entire summer working in a dusty old library, instead of hanging out with her.

“Summer is pretty boring with you working all the time,” Susan tells JP with a sigh. “Did you know there is absolutely nothing to do in this area?”

“Yeah I knew,” Jean-Pierre gives her a smile while he stacks some books. “Why do you think I always hang out with you?”

“Amazing. I’m apparently not as boring as the village to you. Thanks for the compliment JP.”

“You’re most welcome,” JP says with a grin as he looks down at the list and walks to another aisle.

Susan jumps up and walks after him. “Have you ever thought about how cool it would be to have a dragon?” she wonders out loud. 

Jean-Pierre looks up from his work in confusion. “What have you been smoking?”

“No, but hear me out, okay? What if the Illuminati hides dragons?”

JP laughs. “That’s ridiculous. Dragons don’t exist,” he gives her a look. “Neither does the Illuminati, by the way.” 

“That’s what the Illuminati wants you to think!”

He looks at her. “I believe dragons live in books and stories. But they cannot possibly live in the real world. Where would they hide?”

“Yes! That’s the question I’ve been thinking a lot about. So I have this theory-”

“Susan,” JP laughs. “I get that you’re excited but you’re distracting me at my work. I already got a warning from Mr. Renaud.” 

“Well aren’t you a buzz-kill,” Susan says with a pout. 

“Just trying to keep it real.” 

“Because reality with stacking books is _so much fun_.” 

“As a matter of fact, I quite like working here.” 

“You want to do this for a living?” Susan asks unbelieving. 

“Maybe,” Jean-Pierre says. “I like the quiet. And I like reading. Obtaining new information and sharing your knowledge with the world-” he stops before he trails off too much. “I mean, there are worst jobs.”

“So what you’re saying is, when we’re adults you’re going to be a boring old man in a library and I’m going to be an awesome scientist. How are we ever going to explain that?”

JP blinks nervously. “Explain what?”

Susan gives him a weird look. “How we’re friends, of course.”

“Oh right!” Jean-Pierre breathes out relieved. “I guess we will just tell people the truth.”

“How you are stacking books while I am gutting dead human bodies?”

“SSSH!” a sudden voice from further back in the library shushes them.

Susan has to withhold her laughter as they exchange a look.

“Maybe I should go before I make you lose customers,” she whispers. 

“It’s a _library_ , we don’t really have customers,” he whispers back.

Susan smiles. “But dinner will be ready soon anyway, so I might as well leave now.”

She sees the disappointment in his eyes as he gives her a nod. It feels like he can’t seem to keep his eyes off her. Before Susan realizes what’s happening he quickly leans in and kisses her on the cheek.

Susan startles and feels a blush creeping on her face. “W-What was that for?”

Jean-Pierre shrugs and gives her a cheeky grin. “It felt right.”

“Yeah eh- you should warn me next time.”

Next _time? Holy shit, please stop talking_.

There is a glinstering in his eyes. “I will.”

“Okay- Well, I’ll see you later,” Susan says in a rush and immediately turns around. She says a quick goodbye before walking out the door. She has to hold herself back from running until she is around the corner where JP won’t be able to see her from the window. She walks out of town, and now that she is out of sight she could run, but her heart is already racing so maybe running isn’t the best idea. She brings her fingers to her cheek and still feels JP’s lips pressed against it. She shakes her head and tries to push the thought away, it’s the last things she needs right now.

As her house comes into sight in the distance, she realises that something is off. Her father’s car is messily parked in the gateway even though his business trip should’ve lasted for at least another week. She quickly walks towards the car, where her Dad is pulling out a massive trunk. 

“Dad?”

“Susan!” he exclaims and the trunk falls from his grip. 

“What’s going on? Why are you back already?”

Her father looks her in the eyes and takes a deep breath before saying, “Word has arrived that Germany invaded Luxembourg today.”

Her eyes grow bigger. “L-Luxembourg?”

He nods and picks up the trunk again. “Susan, go to your room and pack a suitcase with all essentials.”

He pauses and before he walks off, says, “We have to be able to leave in a moment’s notice.”

“Dad!” Susan runs after him. “Where are we going?”

“To your uncle and aunt, near Perpignan,” he says over his shoulder.

“That’s in the south! Dad! It’s the other side of the country!” Susan tries to get his attention.

“It’ll just be for a few months.”

Susan rushes after him into the hall of their house.

“What about JP? And his parents?”

Her father gets to a halt and turns around. “Your aunt has some cottages for rent. I offered them a cottage, but it’s their call to go or not.”

She swallows at the seriousness of his expression. She has never seen her father so scared.

“Dad,” she hesitates before she speaks up again. “Are we… Are we going to be at war?”

He looks at her with desperate eyes. “How should I know, Susan?”

\--  
 _5 August 1914_ \- The car comes to a halt and Susan immediately pushes herself out the door. The salty sea smell that fills the air feels like a complete different France than she’s used to. She stretches out, because they’ve been driving in that stupid car for days now. 

Her aunt storms out of her house and waves excitedly. “You made it!”

“It was a long drive,” her father huffs from his sister’s embrace.

“I can only imagine,” her aunt says while giving Susan’s mother a welcome hug. “I guess you heard the news by now, right?” 

They all fall silent. France declared war on Germany the 3rd. Germany has already invaded Belgium. They fled just in time. 

Her aunt turns to Susan for the first time since she ran out of the house and her jaw drops.

“W-what happened to your hair?” 

Susan clenches her teeth and musters up a smile. “Everyone wears it like this in the North, auntie.” 

Her aunt shoots her mother a quick glance and her mother returns it with a hopeless shrug. Awesome. Just when her parents were getting used to the way she looks, she has dropped back to the stage of ‘walking freakshow’ within seconds of arrival.

“L-let me show you your rooms,” her aunt quickly changes the subject and waves them in. 

Susan jogs over to walk next to her father and yanks at his sleeve.

“JP is coming too, right?”

“Yes, they should arrive in a couple of days.” 

Susan takes a deep breath. Just a few more days and JP will be here. Just a few more months and they will be back in Péronne, Susan tells herself firmly. In a few months, everything will be back to normal.

\--

 _10 September 1916_ \- For the last few months whenever Susan entered the room, her father would quickly turn off the radio. At first, she didn’t notice, but eventually it started to get obvious. If anything, it only peaked her curiosity. Still, it wasn’t easy to actually figure out what he was hiding from her. Now, she is sitting on the beach, wishing she hadn’t been so curious. She shouldn’t have listened to the radio. The Battle of Somme. The area around Péronne has been a battlefield since July. Her hometown is now nothing more than another bloodbath. 

She lets her head fall to rest on her knees and stares blankly at the wide expanse of sea in front of her, watching as the sun drops below the horizon. It’s not the same. It’s not like home. At home the water feels soft and the smell of mud is everywhere. Here the water pricks when you touch it. The sand rubs harshly against your feet, instead of grass tickling your toes. 

“I guess you heard, huh?” a voice says from behind her. 

Jean-Pierre sits down next to her and gives her a sad smile. 

“Did you know?”

He nods. “By accident. My parents tried to hide it too. Thought I couldn’t handle it.” 

“I can handle it. I’m not weak. I like objectivity. I like adventure,” she looks him in the eyes. “I’m always about wanting to know the truth.” 

“I never said that you’re weak,” JP says calmly and sifts a handful of sand through his fingers. “But I didn’t feel like it was my place to tell you.”

He pauses and looks at her. “And caring about things or people doesn’t make you weak.”

She shakes her head. “You don’t understand, I can’t show emotions, or I’ll be cast aside as just another girl with too many emotions, incapable to work. I want to be more than that. I want to go to university. I want to have a job.” 

He nods. “But you’re alone with me now. I’m not gonna cast you aside for being who you are.”

He lays his hand on the sand next to her, palm facing up. Susan looks from his face to his hand for a second before carefully lacing their fingers together. She turns away to stare at the sea again. The waves softly ebbing on the sand makes for a calming evening view.

“It’s not the same, is it?” Jean-Pierre softly says as they both watch the waves come and go.

“Technically that’s because seawater consists of saltwater instead of the sweetwater we’re used to in rivers.”

“That’s not... really what I meant.”

Susan sighs. “I know.” 

She lets herself fall backwards into the sand, looking up to the sky. There’s something significant about looking into the open sky like that, Susan thinks. How incredibly big it must be, compared to how incredibly small they are. Hell, even France seems big to her, let alone the earth or what’s beyond. So why does it matter so much, if all they are is just a speck of dust? In the grand scheme of things it doesn’t even matter. Right?

“Do you think our houses will still be there?”

JP lays down next to her. “Honestly?”

“I know the truth,” she swallows. “I just want to have hope for a little longer.”

\--

 _12 December 1917_ \- Jean-Pierre sits on the stairs of the porch, waiting for Susan to arrive. She’s probably looking for interesting samples to dissect somewhere. He nervously shakes his leg and hopes that she will get home soon. It’s pretty cold, but definitely not as cold as it would be in the North. He’s not sure how much longer it will take for Susan to turn up, but he doesn’t want to leave without seeing her one last time. 

After what seems like hours of waiting he sees Susan in the distance, completely covered in dirt. She smiles and waves when she sees him sitting on the porch. 

“Hey, what are you doing here?” she yells from the distance.

JP stands up and waits until Susan is closer. He swallows. “I’ve come to say goodbye.” 

Susan’s face drops. “Oh.” 

“Yeah.”

Both turn silence. What are you supposed to say before someone goes to war? 

“When are you leaving?”

“I need to be at the train station around five tomorrow morning,” he says. 

She nods.

“S-sadly I couldn’t bring your collection of dead reptiles with me. My dad said I had to use that space for lots of socks,” Jean-Pierre says with a nervous laugh. “Something about mud and wet feet.” 

“That’s okay,” Susan says with a sad smile. 

They look at each other for a second until Susan launches herself at him and buries her face in his chest. He wraps his arms around her and closes his eyes. If he could freeze a moment and hold on to it forever, he would choose this one. He kisses the top of her head and tries to memorize everything about her now. The way she smells like soil and sea, and how soft yet tough she feels in his arms. If there is anyone who doesn’t need protection, it would be Susan. He’s almost certain he needs her protection more. 

“Please-,” Susan says and looks up to meet his eyes. “Please come home.”

He nods. “I’ll try.”

\--

 _25 December 1917_ \- Jean-Pierre had arrived a few days ago in the Northern part of France. It had taken a few more extra days to get to the battlefield. It’s his first day on frontline and there is already an attack planned. In ten minutes they are going to try and capture POWs and maybe even hijack a German trench. JP holds his gun in a very tight grip and he doesn’t seem able to relax.

An officer bumps his shoulder and JP jumps at the gesture. The man hands him a glass with liquor in it.

“What’s this?” 

“Rum,” the officer says and walks off, handing out glasses to the rest of the soldiers. Jean-Pierre looks around and sees a bunch of men grouped together. 

“One for the road,” one of them toasts bitterly before drinking the liquor in one gulp. 

Jean-Pierre decides to do the same thing and he can immediately feel the rum burning in his throat, but it’s probably better to go in somewhat numb. He paces around nervously, and sees a guy praying in a corner. Another one is sobbing while holding a photo, probably of his loved ones. Suddenly his foot gets stuck in something and he looks down, seeing a dead body on the ground. His eyes widen. 

“Someone died!” Jean-Pierre wheezes. “There’s a man down!”

“Well he’s not bothering you then, is he now?” a calm voice says from behind him. 

“What?” Jean-Pierre exhales and turns around to face the man, not believing someone is actually _joking_. 

The man gives him a look. “First day on frontline?” 

Jean-Pierre quickly nods, but then realizes that he probably should respond properly. “Yes.” he somehow manages to get out.

“Tough luck,” the man admits. “Don’t worry, you’re doing great so far. I vomited the first few times, and even back then I was probably twice your age.”

Jean-Pierre stares at the body. “What happens to him?”

“Well, once the heat of the fight is mostly over they’ll be able to collect the bodies. Might take a couple o’ days,” the man replies. “Lets hope it doesn’t take so long though. The bodies always start to smell after a while.”

“But-” Jean-Pierre hesitates, the words stuck in his throat and his eyes wide-open. 

The man sighs, recognizing his inexperience. “It’s nothing like they tell you in the ads is it now, kid?”

“I didn’t expect it would be pretty, but this is far worse than I imagined,” Jean-Pierre admits.

“Y’know the worst part? The worst part is how people will say they _heroically_ died in the war,” the man scoffs. “Jimmy died because he slipped in the mud. Pete got shot because he was lighting his cigarette. What’s so heroic about that?”

The man checks if his gun is loaded and looks back to Jean-Pierre. 

“Never forget that, son,” the man says as he pats his shoulder. “The only reason they glorify war is to justify the casualties.”

The man walks off and JP tries to focus on his breathing. He hears some men crying and another one vomits. He isn’t sure how much longer he can keep up his calm appearance. He tries to keep his arms moving, because he’s afraid that otherwise he’ll freeze to death. 

The whistle blows and all the tension in his body floats away. His stomach turns and his mouth feels dry. He climbs up and almost slips on his first step in no-man’s land. He runs through the barbed wire that was cut loose earlier. From every direction he can hear shots fired and feels bullets passing near him. He focuses on the order he was given instead. He tries to run faster, but his heavy equipment makes it impossible. His head starts spinning and before he knows it he has jumped in an enemy’s trench. The mission is simple: ‘clean’ the trenches. In other words, kill the enemy and try to hijack their trench. 

He turns to run left down the trench and the first thing he sees is a dead body on the ground, covered in blood. He tries to ignore it and turns around the corner. He almost bumps into a German soldier, heavily armed like himself. His blue eyes widen when he sees Jean-Pierre. He’s probably the same age as JP. Maybe it’s his first fight too. His hesitation lasts less than a second before Jean-Pierre puts his bayonet through the soldier’s gut. The German opens his mouth to say something, probably to curse, but no noise emerges. With shaky hands Jean-Pierre tries to pull out the weapon. His freezing fingers don’t make it any easier. With horror in his eyes he watches as the German slowly collapses to the ground. Immediately Jean-Pierre runs for it and tears gather in his eyes. He feels like he is going to vomit. Or trip over his shaky feet. _Never again. Never again. Never again_. He keeps repeating to himself as he spots another one of his comrades in the blur of bodies. 

“Come quickly, boy!” the comrade shouts at him. “We found a lot more over here!” 

\--

_3 March 1918_

_My dearest Susan,_

_Many thanks for your letters. I apologize for not responding to you sooner, but I honestly have no idea how to tell you about the misery I’ve seen so far. I’m trying to forget it but it keeps haunting me. The front line is absolutely disturbing, even if we technically spend the least amount of time there. Right now I’m at a hinterland, waiting for my furlough. Another guy was allowed to go first, because he has a wife and four children. It will probably only be a few more days before I can leave. I know we talked about how we wanted to see each other, but since it’s not clear when I can go and when I need to be back again I feel like it would be useless. It’s not worth the long trip from Perpignan all the way up to Paris. Although I wish for nothing more than seeing you again._

_Instead I will be staying with my uncle and aunt for that short time. I’m already looking forward to clean water and a nice bed. I haven’t been able to tell you, but the conditions here are terrible. Among other things, we’re tortured by rats, lice and fleas. It’s impossible to get rid of those things. Even if you are clean, your comrades will have a spare few louse that are willingly to jump on you. Some louse have a red cross on their back and others have big black eyes. There is even a duty schedule for catching the pests. The rats are terrifying as well, because some are as big as cats. They nibble on everything, and not even your shoes are safe, let alone your food. Maybe I should catch a louse for you when I’m on duty again. Like a souvenir from the war._

_In spite of not seeing you, I hope furlough will be good for me. Please never stop writing those letters to me._

_My heart will always be beating with yours,_

_JP_

\--  
 _28 May 1918_ \- Jean-Pierre walks to the new underground hut he is assigned to. He sees someone on the ground who appears to be sleeping, while a rat keeps pestering him. Another soldier is close by a small fire. He has a different uniform and holds a book with what seems like an English title. The soldier looks up from his book and immediately tosses it aside when he sees Jean-Pierre. He jumps up with a grin on his face.

“Bonjour!” the boy says in a thick American accent. “Je eh- ma.. je m’apple-”

“I can speak English,” Jean-Pierre smiles.

“Really?” the American says relieved. “That’s a first. Our roomie over there only speaks French. Seemed a bit angry when I kept talking.” 

They both glance over at the soldier who’s still laying on the ground. The constant noise of bombs makes the ground tremble.

“Name’s Scooter,” the man says, seeming unaware of the noise and reaches over to shake JP’s hand.

“Jean-Pierre,” he says with a raised eyebrow. He isn’t sure he ever saw such enthusiasm on the battlefield. 

“Can I call you JP?” Scooter asks. “It’s easier to pronounce.”

Jean-Pierre’s stomach turns. 

“I’d rather not,” he says, thinking of Susan. “Just… call me Jean-Pierre.”

He doesn’t want his nickname to be associated with war; he wants it to feel like home.

“Sure thing!” Scooter says with a smile. “Y’know I expected to be grouped with some English folks. Would be easier to talk and all.” 

“There’s not much talking once you’re out here,” JP says more bitter than he intended. 

Scooter seems to notice the bitterness in his voice and slaps Jean-Pierre on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, you French potato. The Americans are here!”

“They’ve been here for a while,” Jean-Pierre says and lets his heavy rucksack slide of his back as he walks past Scooter. He needs to make himself as comfortable as possible.

“No offense but your country is only really useful with their big fleet,” Jean-Pierre says as he starts unpacking his stuff. “Your land forces are rather pathetic.” 

“You’re totally right,” Scooter admits. “But hey, at least the chance of getting eaten by a giant fish is out of the question here!”  
Jean-Pierre stops unpacking and turns his head to Scooter. “How are you able to joke around?”

Scooter shrugs. “I guess it’s how I try and keep sane.”

The other soldier, who apparently is awake, rolls over to grumble at Jean-Pierre in French. “I give it five days before that pathetic smile is whipped off his stupid face.”

Jean-Pierre shoots the soldier an angry look. He’s right of course, but they were all hopeful once. 

\--

_16 June 1918_

_Dear JP,_

_I have been finishing school. My grades are good enough for me to enter university, and I’m hoping to study at the university in Sorbonne, but my parents always seem to find reasons I shouldn’t go. Currently, they’ve settled on “it’s war and it’s too dangerous for you to go study”. If the war was over they’d probably say something like “No Susan, the weather is two degrees too low and the baguette you’re about to eat isn’t cut a perfect 60 degrees, so you can’t go.”_

_I probably shouldn’t complain while you’re on the battlefield though. Just reading your letters is horrifying, let alone being there. I don’t know how you’re able to keep on going. Nevertheless, I despise Perpignan with my entire existence, and I cannot wait for a opportunity to leave. At least when you were here it wasn’t so boring. I’m glad we can keep contact through these letters. Please be safe._

_And with yours,_

_Susan_

_P.S. I forgot to tell you last time but the louse sound absolutely disgusting and I would love to have one as a souvenir._

\--

 _2 July 1918_ \- The last few days have been quite easy compared to a lot of days, Jean-Pierre realizes as he patrols through the second line. Scooter walks in front of him, both their weapon ready in case of any danger. Maybe it’s the nice weather, or maybe it’s Scooter’s optimism shining through. JP isn’t able to laugh as much as Scooter does, but at least a lot of the pressure he put on himself is gone. If they’re going to die, why not die with a smile on your face? It’s weird to think like that, but it helps him. He hates everything about the war but mostly he hates what it does to people. JP isn’t sure he’ll ever be able to rest at peace, but the least he can do is try. 

His eyes slide over the top of the trench, when Jean-Pierre suddenly spots a flash of bright red. He stops patrolling for a second and climbs up the trench to peek his head over the edge. The landscape of no-man’s land looks like a desert, the earth dry like white chalk. The ground covered in bullets and a few dead, leafless trees. But in the middle of all the dead things peeks a small bush of red flowers. Papaver. 

A smile curls up JP’s lips. The contrast is beautiful. It’s not much, but it’s there. Hope can grow anywhere.

“Jesus, I got worried when you left my back,” Scooters says breathlessly from below JP. “What in the devil’s name are you doing up there?”

JP lowers his head and looks at Scooter. 

“Papaver,” Jean-Pierre says with a smile.

Scooter gives him a confused look. “What are you babbling ‘bout?”

“There in the field,” Jean-Pierre says as he quickly points at it, before ducking back down.

“Let me see,” Scooter says. He climbs up the trench halfway and carefully waits for the right moment to peek his head above the edge. When he does he gives it a quick glance and immediately jumps back and gives JP a look.

“Yes. That is a bunch of red flowers, Jean-Pierre,” Scooter says dryly. “You had me stick my head up there for a _flower_. Are you going nuts?”

“No you don’t get it. It’s total irony,” Jean-Pierre says as they start walking again along the trench. “How life can go on even though it’s surrounded by death.”

Scooter lets out a laugh. “You’ve been out here too long, my friend.”

Jean-Pierre smiles. “That too.” 

JP keeps focused, because they can get attacked any second, but walking behind Scooter makes him realize one thing. Life likes irony. 

“It’s quite the paradox,” JP admits.

“What?”

“Making friends when you’re at war.”

\--

 _19 September 1918_ \- When Scooter doesn’t turn up in the hut after he should be back from duty, Jean-Pierre doesn’t worry too much, until it’s been several hours and sees men from the next shift returning. 

He decides it’s pointless waiting and he might as well ask an officer what happened. After several minutes he spots one. 

“Sir, may I ask about the position of soldier Scooter?” 

The officer sighs and scratches his head. “Is that the American goofball?”

“Yes, sir.”

The man sighs. “Right, I think I saw him getting taken to the hospital.”

Jean-Pierre breath catches. “What?” 

“He’s lucky,” the officer says. “Got shot in the arm. They’ll probably have to amputate that.” 

“So he isn’t dead?” he asks to be sure. 

“Not unless those idiotic war doctors fuck up badly.” 

He sighs when Jean-Pierre doesn’t seem to get it’s a joke. “Seriously though. Your friend will be fine.” 

\--

_26 September 1918_

_My dearest Susan,_

_To immediately answer your question, no, I did not have to fight in the Second Battle of the Somme. And luckily so, war is tough enough on it’s own, let alone fighting on familiar ground. Frankly, I doubt I could handle it. Which is ironic, considering I’m the lucky guy who, for some reason, gets through everything without a scratch, even though others come back even after they’ve been wounded three or four times before._

_You asked a few times about my furlough in Paris, but in all honesty it wasn’t worth mentioning. It was just for a couple of days and I spend most of my time alone. It was the strangest experience to walk around the streets in peace, while comrades were currently dying on the battlefield. I wasn’t at ease. The sound of dropping bombs followed me even to Paris. Even the softest bed wasn’t a remedy for it, although I have to admit a bed was a nice change compared to sleeping on straw or the ground for so many months. I miss those pillows a lot. But most of all I miss you, Susan. I wish I could see you again. Maybe I can see you next time I’m on furlough. I don’t want to get too optimistic and say “when the war ends”, because even though rumor has it that the war might soon be over, it’s just another day on the battlefield. Nothing guarantees I’ll survive._

_I don’t want to jinx anything is all, it sounds all too positive to me. And even if I could talk about it, it’s weird to say we might “win” the war. All I can think of is how much I lost. Most notably my innocence. I don’t want to think about how many people I’ve wounded or killed. The first German I saw die at my hands still haunts me in my sleep. I feel dirty. I am a murderer. I wouldn’t wish this feeling upon my worst enemy, if I ever happen to find one. I know you have no choice once you’re on the battlefield, one way or another you’ll be surrounded by death. I find some sanity in the fact that nobody really wants to be here. We’re all fighting in the name of a country, not in the name of ourselves. I guess there are never really winners in a war._

_I hope to hear from you soon. Even though I cannot always respond immediately to your many letters, they are definitely the highlight of my day._

_My heart will always be beating with yours,_

_JP_

\--

 _11 November 1918_ \- Jean-Pierre is at the hinterland when the news reaches him. At 11 o’clock the armistice begins. He quickly checks his watch and sees it’s a quarter past eleven. Tears form into his eyes and he lets himself fall onto the ground. He starts laughing through his tears. The worst is over. The war may not have ended yet, but they’re free for now. 

He can go home.


	2. After the War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which life after the war continues. JP and LaF get married, and at the Silas Conference LaFontaine meets a mysterious girl.

_13 November 1918_ \- JP enters the small building where Scooter is hospitalized. When he spots his friend he cannot hide his shock. Scooter’s right-arm is gone, the place where it should be covered neatly by a bandage. But above all, it’s Scooter expression that concerns JP the most. He looks tired and in pain. Jean-Pierre walks towards him and Scooter looks up when he reaches his bed.

“Jean-Pierre?” he asks, unbelieving.

JP stand next to his bed and works up a smile. “Hey Scooter, how are you feeling?” 

Scooter reaches out and pinches Jean-Pierre’s arm instead of replying. 

“What was that for?” JP asks, in confusion. 

“They put me on some drugs when they amputated my arm. I needed to check that you weren’t just another hallucination.” 

JP lets out a laugh. “No, it’s really me.” 

He clears his throat, realizing that a hospital isn’t exactly the place to laugh out loud. “So how have you been doing?”

“Well,” Scooter says with a pained expression. “This has been the most unpleasant experience I’ve had in my entire life.” 

Jean-Pierre nods understandingly.

“But no need to worry ‘bout me,” Scooter says, slightly punching JP in the arm. “I’m still able to smile.”

“I wouldn’t blame you if you don’t smile for a while.” 

“Oh, I would never blame people for never smiling again,” Scooter says immediately. “Sometimes I wonder what’s the point. Right? What’s the point of putting millions of people through pain and suffering. And for what? Who knows.”

There is a sad smile on Scooter’s face. “But then I remember the good days. And I realize, that nothing is more beautiful than a genuine smile.”

He looks up at JP with fierce determination in his eyes. “All I want is to be able to smile on the good days.” 

JP returns the smile. “That’s very noble.” 

Scooter doesn’t reply, and for a moment they are both silent as JP wonders what to say. 

“You know,” Jean-Pierre starts hesitantly. “I’ve actually been inspired by your outlook on life.” 

“Really?”

“Yeah,” JP coughs awkwardly. “You know the friend I’ve been writing letters to?”

A smile curls up on Scooter’s face. “You mean your childhood friend.”

Jean-Pierre nods. “I-I’ve been thinking about asking her hand in marriage.”

“That’s great!” Scooter exclaims. 

“You think so?”

“Sure! I mean if you love each other and it feels right, you should go for it.”

“I think I will,” Jean-Pierre says, letting his thoughts wander off to Susan for a moment. Soon he’ll be on the train, and he’ll be able to see her again. Suddenly he reminds himself that Scooter will go back to his home soon as well. “So when are you going back to America?”

“In a couple of days I hope,” he replies. “I can’t wait to get back.”

Jean-Pierre knows exactly what he means, but nonetheless he doesn’t want to lose contact with Scooter. “Maybe we could exchange letters,” he suggest.

“Write letters? Fuck you man, I have to be a leftie now!” Scooter jokes.

“Don’t worry, I’m used to horrible handwriting,” Jean-Pierre jokes back. 

Scooter grins. “You always know how to make me feel good about myself.” 

\--

 _18 November 1918_ \-- The train slowly pulls in the station. Susan knows it’s pointless in the crowds of people milling on the station, but she tries find Jean-Pierre sitting in one of the compartments anyway. The doors open and a lot of young men with heavy bags get out, immediately pulled into hugs and kisses from their loved ones. Susan stands a little to the side, not wanting to ruin other people’s moment. Jean-Pierre’s parents are standing further forward, and they deserve to see their son first. She can’t believe it’s been eleven months. 

Susan tries to spot Jean-Pierre as he gets out the train, but it’s hard to see through the rush of men. When she finally sees him, she’s shocked at how he looks. He might have left the war with just a few bruises instead of entire limbs blown off, but you could see it in his eyes. The way he looks around and how it seems like he looks at reality with different eyes. The war has left a mark on him, even though it might not be visible to all. 

His face lights up when he sees his parents, and after a firm handshake and a pat on the shoulders by his father, his mother kisses both his cheeks and hugs him. The station is full of chatter and a few people are already leaving the train station. Probably meeting a lot of family members before they can go home to rest. She smiles at the way JP is trapped in his mother’s embrace, but then he spots her over his mother’s shoulder. 

“Susan!” he exclaims and shrugs himself out of his mother’s arms to run towards her.

He stops in front of her with the biggest smile on his face. 

“I’m so glad you’re back,” Susan says and she can feel her voice shake. 

They hug each other tightly, and the cheering chatter fades to background noise. He smells like dirt, and sweat and all kinds of gross things to be completely honest. She wonders if she smells like that as well when she’s exploring the wilderness, and if Jean-Pierre doesn’t mind it either. 

“I brought you a louse, but I lost it during travel,” JP says softly, showing no sign of letting her go. 

“That’s fine,” Susan says gripping him more tightly. She feels tears forming in her eyes. “You’re back, that’s all that matters.”

\--

 _4 May 1919_ \- Jean-Pierre’s name gets called and he jumps up and walks into the small office where he will be reviewed. There is a man behind a desk who is standing as well. He looks brutal, but you have to be in the army. 

“State your name,” the man commands. 

“Jean-Pierre Armitage.”

The man nods and says, “Have a seat,” and sits down himself. 

The officer gives him a good look. “I see you already served in the war. Tell me, what would you like to achieve in the army.”

“Papaver.” 

“Soldier, please answer the question,” the officer says annoyed. 

“I do not want to be in the army,” Jean-Pierre says. “I wish there was no need for such thing. Therefore I do not serve a country I serve people. And I shall remain in the army until my dream has come true.”

He stares the man dead in the eyes. “Does that answer your question, sir?”

“You have a death wish,” the man sighs. “You’ll be dead by tomorrow thinking like that.”

“I won’t be the first to die in an army,” Jean-Pierre says. “Neither will I be the last. I don’t see it as a problem.” 

“It’s not-”

“You need men don’t you?” Jean-Pierre cuts him off rudely. “You need fresh meat that will willingly join the army. Sacrifice themselves, even. We both know how few men are going to join voluntarily after what they’ve seen in battle. You couldn’t care less about my motives, because you’re already dumbfounded that one person was actually insane enough to turn up.” 

The man lets out a huff. “Very well. Lets hope you are as clever in battle as you think you are in your speech.”

Jean-Pierre gives the officer a firm nod. As long as he's in the army, someone else's innocence is spared. 

\--

 _30 June 1919_ \- Susan walks into her aunt’s house when her mother calls her to come into the living room. A bit annoyed, Susan does what she is asked and sits down next to her mother on the couch. 

“Your father and I have wanted to talk to you,” her mother starts and Susan can already tell that this is going to be a serious topic. “Now that the war is officially over we don’t have to stay here anymore.”

Susan faces lights up. “Are you saying we’re finally moving back to Péronne?”

Her mother shakes her head. “We set our eye on Montpellier, your father and I like the climate here b-”

She doesn’t even finish her sentence before Susan jumps up angrily. “You’re kidding me right?”

Her mother stands up as well and puts her hands on Susan’s shoulders, but she immediately shakes them off. “At least tell me I can go to Sorbonne.”

The sigh her mother gives her speaks volume and Susan can feel her anger bubbling up inside her.

“The Treaty of Versailles is signed. The war is over. There is no way you can keep me here.”

“What is it with you and wanting to go to Sorbonne?”

“Maybe it’s the closest I’ll get to be to my home in _five_ years,” Susan replies bitterly. “Maybe it’s because I want nothing more than expand my knowledge by studying at a university.” 

“It’s not natural for a girl to study.”

“And why is that?”

Her mother shrugs helplessly. “It’s just how it is.”

“No _mother_ , it’s not ‘just’ how it is. You’re only saying that because there is simply no logical explanation for it.”

“Susan-”

“I don’t want to be Susan anymore,” she says in a heated voice. “I want to be a doctor. Doctor LaFontaine from Péronne.”

Her mother looks at her helplessly. “Honey, we cannot help you with this dream of yours. It’s just silly.” 

“Fine,” Susan says. “Then I’ll find my own way.” 

She walks off, and knows to shrug off her mother’s arm another time. 

“Susan, that’s not what I meant!” her mother calls after her.

She turns around and looks at her completely pissed off.

“If you think for even a _second_ I’m going to give up on this dream, you are wrong,” Susan says as her hand tremble of anger. “I _will_ go to university and I _will_ become a doctor. I want to help people. My gender should not, under any circumstance, be an obstacle in this matter.” 

Before her mother can even stammer up an answer, Susan has already slammed the door shut. 

\--

Susan stomps down the beach, her shoes filling unpleasantly with sand. She finally gets to leave Perpignan, and yes, they are going north, but not North. Why can’t her parents see this is so important to her? She strides on, lost in her thoughts when JP crosses her path, holding a paper bag filled with groceries.

“Hey JP,” Susan tries to act chipper. “What are you doing here?”

“My father sent me to get some vegetables for the soup,” JP says and gives her a concerned look. “What’s going on?”

“My parents won’t let me go to Sorbonne,” she sighs, immediately dropping the act. “I mean, if I could pay for it myself, I would.”

“I’ll pay for it,” he immediately offers. 

“What? No!” she reacts off-guard. “That’s insane.” 

He shrugs. “I’m in service. I have some money I can spend.” 

“JP, I-I could never accept that, please don’t make me consider it. It’s way too generous,” Susan stammers up an answer. “B-besides, my parents would never accept it from a friend of mine.”

Something seems to shift in Jean-Pierre’s eyes. 

“For one thing, I have been thinking about that,” he says slowly. “This is not at all how I planned it, but I guess it’s no better time,” he looks at the bag he is holding. “With groceries in my hands, above anything.”

“What are you talking about?” Susan asks, confused. 

Jean-Pierre takes a deep breath. “Susan, I want nothing more than happiness for you. I know how important this university is for you, and I wondered if in addition-” 

He puts the bag of groceries in the sand and kneels down on one knee. “I wondered if you would like to marry me?”

She stares at Jean-Pierre in shock and any words she could say seem to be stuck in her throat. 

“I wish I came more prepared,” he says and quickly glances over the paper bag. “I don’t have a ring yet, but can I offer you an onion instead? They have rings in them.”

Susan burst into laughter and helps JP stand up again, hugging him. “The pun won me over.” 

“So that’s a yes?” 

Susan looks up, straight in his eyes and nods. “Yes.” 

They kiss each other gently and their eyes meet again.

“I still cannot accept your offer for university though,” Susan says. “It’s too much.”

“Your happiness means more to me than a bit of money. Trust me.”

Susan sighs. “I can’t talk you out of this can I?”

He shakes his head. “Not a chance.”

She smiles at him. “Fine. But I’ll only accept it if you lend me the money. I will repay every last cent.”

“Fair is fair.” 

They start laughing and Susan nudges him in his shoulder. “You sure know how to surprise a person. Have you even asked permission from my dad?”

Jean-Pierre scratches the back of his head. “Eh- That would be a no.”

“JP!” 

“What? This wasn’t how I planned it, I was going to ask of course,” Jean-Pierre mumbles.

Susan smiles and gives him a kiss on the cheek. “I know.” 

He sighs relieved and says, “Just act surprised when I propose to you properly.” 

\--

 _7 December 1926_ \- It’s the day of their wedding. Susan has just finished up her degree and is now officially Dr. LaFontaine. They’ve been engaged all these years, and finally the day has come. Unfortunately their parents, or more accurately Susan’s parents, had insisted that the wedding take place in Montpellier, even though both Susan and JP had only visited a few times. They are about to marry in a church that is completely unfamiliar to them. It’s too much for Susan to take. She just wants to get out of the ridiculous dress her mother had chosen for her and get back into her normal clothes. With a heavy heart she knocks on the dressing room where Jean-Pierre is getting dressed. 

“Come in,” he yells through the door. 

She opens the door and slips inside. JP is standing with his back towards her. His bow tie is still hanging around his neck and his jacket is still over at the chair. 

“I can’t do this,” Susan says in a shaky voice. 

He freezes when he recognizes her voice and turns around. “What’s wrong?” 

Susan sighs. “Everything! I’m forced into this dress by my stupid parents, with whom I have barely talked to in the past couple of years. There’s basically no one in that church I consider my friend. I’m in a strange city and I hate the location and-”

She cuts her rand short and takes a deep breath. “I just don’t feel comfortable on my own wedding day. I mean, I can’t even wear pants for crying out loud.” 

“Listen to me, Susan,” Jean-Pierre says, striding over and taking her hands. “This is just one day in the rest of our lives we’ll spend together. A-and it’s insignificant compared to the number of days we can wear pants together.”

“Together as in we wear pants with four legs?” Susan says with a smirk.

“Bit difficult to arrange, but not impossible.” 

Susan laughs. “Please don’t do that.” 

“Noted.” 

He plants a kiss on her forehead. 

“We can do this. You have ten more minutes to get dressed. I’ll be there waiting for you in the church, and I’ll be by your side the whole day. And once we are married and I’ll be legally bound to stay by your side for the rest of my life.”

“Sounds like a nightmare,” Susan says with a smile. 

JP shakes his head and says in all seriousness, “I have many nightmares, but you’re the reason I’m brave enough to try and fall asleep every night anyway.” 

“I can’t believe you just said that out loud,” Susan mumbles, her head turning red. 

“Yeah, me neither,” he says with a grin.

Susan looks him in his eyes. “I just cursed our marriage by visiting you, didn’t I?”

“Nonsense,” JP smiles. “Either way, I practically proposed to you twice. Why not do the same with our wedding?” 

\-- 

_29 December 1926_ \- A loud scream jerks Susan awake and and she turns to see Jean-Pierre sweating in his sleep. He must be the one who yelled. She immediately turns on the lamp and nudges him softly, until he finally seems to wake up.

“Hey Jean-Pierre,” Susan says softly. “I’m your wife Susan, and we’re currently staying at my parent’s house in Montpellier. It’s night time, but you are not in any danger. It’s safe. You’re safe here.”

He blinks at her and his breathing seems to calm down. “Thank you, Susan. Normally these nightmares last longer.”

“Have you had more of these?”

He nods. “Ever since my first battle.”

She looks at him with soft eyes. “Why do you torment yourself by staying in the army?”

“I want peace,” he says and smiles sadly. “Anyway, let’s go back to sleep.”

“Are you sure?”

He nods and Susan turns to the nightstand to turn off the light again. Jean-Pierre wraps his arms around her and she lays her head on his chest.

“Maybe we should go back to familiar ground,” Susan whispers. 

“What are you suggesting?”

“I want to go home, JP. Back to Péronne.” 

He softly kisses the top of her head. “We will.” 

\-- 

_23 January 1927_ \- Susan wanders around the large building. Jean-Pierre had been hijacked by the general of the French army as soon as he finished his hour-long speech. The general had personally invited Jean-Pierre and Susan to join him at the Silas Conference in Austria. It was a big conference, that lasted the entire weekend. Influential people from all over Europe have come to discuss the peace in Europe. It was a big deal, and today, on the closing evening, there is a grand ball. However, she doesn’t really care for balls. She only tagged along so Jean-Pierre wouldn’t have to be alone. She had hoped they could at least spend this evening together, but the general seems to want to tell another story to all the soldiers under his command. She sighs and walks around another corner, hoping to find something interesting to fill the time with. Most of the people she has met this weekend seemed both very boring and on at least five different high horses. Not really the type of people she would like to have a conversation with.

An abandoned room. Finally. She is about to walk in when she sees a young lady with black curls sitting in the opening of the window. She’s probably just a few years younger than her. A cigarette is in her hand as she blows out some smoke through the window. Her black dress blends into the night sky, and is what made Susan overlook her at first glance. She’s the first person who seems as bored as she is, but doesn’t seem boring.

“Is this the room for bored people?”

The girl immediately startles and puts the cigarette out before looking at Susan. She lets out a sigh of relief. “Shit, I thought you were Maman for a second.”

Susan laughs. “Don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me.”

The girl gives her a small nod.

“Is it okay if I join you?” Susan asks as she gestures towards the window.

The girl shrugs. “Sure.”

She walks towards her and asks half serious half joking, “Do we need to curtsey while introducing ourselves?” 

Carmilla lets out a laugh. “Please no. I hate those traditions,” she reaches slightly over without having to stand up to shake her hand. “My name is Carmilla.”

“Susan,” she says as she cringes at her name. No matter how many times she says it, it still doesn’t feel right. 

Carmilla nods and lets herself sink back in the window again. Susan positions herself somewhere on the side of the window, her hands holding on to the wooden edge. 

“So what brings you here at Silas?” Susan tries to keep the conversation going.

“My mother asked if I could join her,” Carmilla says with a shrug as she looks outside the window again. “Sometimes she asks me these things. I’m only required at the beginning and the ending though. I have the rest of the evening to myself.” 

“You say it as if you’ve done this a million times.” 

Carmilla looks at her. “I’m pretty used to it by now. She’s been taking me to parties and conferences since I was five. She never married so I guess she needs someone to chaperone her.” 

Susan shudders at the idea of a million conferences like this one. “Sounds like a nightmare. This dress alone would be enough reason for me to never go to another conference again.”

“It looks good on you though,” Carmilla says genuine. 

“I know,” Susan says, eyes fixed on the ground. “But it doesn’t _suit_ me.”

Carmilla nods understandingly. “I feel the same way.” 

She looks up in surprise. How can a girl that looks so stunning in a dress feel the same way? “You do?”

“Yeah,” Carmilla says with a shrug. “Maybe not as strongly as you do, but when I’m in a dress I feel like I’m not myself. I feel like I have to behave a certain way that isn’t me. If it were possible I would prefer a tuxedo over a dress.” 

Susan laughs. “Pants are nice, aren’t they?”

“They are,” Carmilla smiles and gives her a long look. “So what brings you here then?”

“My husband is in the army,” Susan says. It’s weird to refer to JP as her husband now. “Since partners were invited too, he asked me to join him.”

She lets out a sigh. “Little did I know he would be kidnapped by the general and his hour-long monologues.”

“Oh, the French one? With that big ugly moustache?”

“Yeah exactly!”

“Ugh, I hate him so much,” Carmilla says as she rolls with her eyes. “You have no idea how many times I have had to listen to his speeches. They are so long and boring. Like, c’mon dude, we don’t got all night for your stupid speeches, wrap it up. Or at least don’t speak at the speed of a freaking turtle.”

Susan laughs. “I can’t believe you just mocked the general. I wouldn’t even dare to make fun of a man who commands our entire army.”

“Well, I figured since I’m German he already distrusts me. Might as well take the opportunity to mock the guy, right?”

Susan had noticed a slight accent in her speech, but she wouldn’t have expected Carmilla was German. It still stings somehow, but it’s not as if Carmilla is responsible for the war. There is no reason to hold it against her. Her French is actually very impressive. Maybe even better than Susans. 

“You’re German?”

“Yup, my mother paid a lot to get me the best education possible. I speak German and French fluently. I know my way around English, and I can understand a little bit of Dutch, but I never studied it. It’s just very similar to German.”

Susan nods. “That’s really impressive. Are you interested in languages?”

“Not really,” Carmilla says. “But those years learning it paid off, since I can read a lot of philosophers in their native language now.”

“Cool, you study philosophy?” 

“Yeah, this is my last semester. I’ll graduate in August,” Carmilla says as she reaches for her purse and gets another cigarette. “Do you mind?”

She looks a bit uncomfortable. “Well-”

“You kinda own me,” Carmilla pretends to say very seriously. “You let me put out a very decent cigarette.”

Susan laughs. “I don’t want to go all medical on you, but you know it’s incredibly bad for your lungs right?”

“I’ve been told,” Carmilla says and slightly rolls with her eyes. 

“Sorry, that was condescending. I’m a doctor,” Susan quickly explains. “I’ve seen what smoking can do to people. It’s pretty ugly.”

“No, I get that. I’m trying to quit actually,” Carmilla says as she puts the cigarette back in the packet. “Look at you. We just met and you’re already a good influence on me.” 

Susan smiles and jokingly says. “You might as well throw it out of the window, otherwise you’ll smoke it anyway.”

“You’re right,” Carmilla says dead-serious. She picks one cigarette out of the package and puts it down next to her. “I need one more before going back into that conference.”

“I didn’t mean you should _actually_ throw it out of the window,” Susan says, not believing Carmilla is seriously considering it. 

Carmilla smiles at her as she closes the package and throws it out of the window. She gives it a good look. “Well, it’s gone now.”

She laughs at Susan’s surprised expression. “Relax, I stole the pack out of some guy’s jacket. People really need to hide their cigarettes better. Plus, if my mother ever found out she would kill me.”

“Is your mother very strict?” Susan suddenly asks.

Carmilla shrugs. “I don’t think so? She has her rules, but she looks out for me. Why?”

“I don’t know,” Susan says not really sure where she is going with this. “She drags you into these parties and all, but you don’t seem to enjoy it very much.”

Carmilla takes the cigarette in her hands and fiddles with it. “I’ve never really given it any thought. She always asks me politely if I’d join her. She proudly introduces me to all kinds of influential people, but once the conversation gets going I’m no longer of importance. I don’t mind it though. Those conversations are boring anyway. I can sneak off and just explore the place. When the night ends I join Maman again and have to be on my best behaviour as we say our goodbyes.”

She looks up to Susan and presses her lips. “I mean, it feels weird complaining about it. Like, oh no, I’ve been all over of Europe and seen some incredible places and met highly influential people. What a nightmare.”

Susan laughs. “You’ve got a point, I guess.”

“Without Maman I would’ve grown up an orphan. I wouldn’t be able to afford my education or speak French, or hell, even have this conversation with you right now. I guess I don’t mind doing her some favors, because she has given me so much already.” 

There is a sad smile on Carmilla’s face and Susan cannot help but return it. She speaks so highly of her mother, yet Susan still feels uneasy about it. Something just doesn’t add up. 

Carmilla looks out of the window again and frowns.

“Something wrong?” Susan asks.

She slightly shakes her head. “No, it’s just weird.”

“What?”

Carmilla looks in her eyes. “How I just blurt these things out to you as if we’ve been friends for years.”

Something in her swells with pride at Carmilla’s words. She likes talking to Carmilla. It’s different. It’s easy. It’s not the same as her and JP, but they’ve known each other since they were kids. It’s nice to meet someone new. She could definitely get used to a friendship like this.

“I like your hair by the way,” Carmilla says as she points at it. “Not many women have the guts to just cut it off. It looks very cool on you.”

Susan turns reds as she plucks at it. “Thanks… Not many people have said that before.”

It still feels weird to be called a woman. But what else could she be referred to as? _She_ sure as hell doesn’t know, so she would be surprised if Carmilla knew the answer. Maybe Carmilla feels the same way about her name as they both felt about the dresses.

“Have you ever wondered-” Susan pauses as she struggles with her wording. “Have you ever felt like your name didn’t suit you?”

She looks up to Carmilla and she seems to be thinking for a while.

“I think for me it’s exactly the opposite,” Carmilla eventually says. “Usually people just call me by a nickname like sweetheart or something, instead of saying my real name.”

“But you like your given name?”

Carmilla nods. “You don’t?”

“Not really,” she admits. “It just doesn’t feel like me. If you get what I mean?”

“Yeah, I don’t really like it when people call me by a nickname. But then again I catch myself doing it to others as well. Does that make me a hypocrite? I don’t know,” she shrugs. “Maybe it just makes me human.” 

Susan lets the words sink in and realizes that could apply to her as well. “You’re definitely a philosophy major.”

They give each other a smile and let the comfortable silence sink between them. The loud conversations in the big hall just a whisper in this room. 

Suddenly Carmilla gives her a little nudge. “Hey, what if I call you ‘Doc’ instead?”

She can feel a soft smile curl up on her face. It sounds pretty cool. “I’d like that.” 

Susan wonders how long they’ve been talking already. She’s freezing because of the cold air that blows through the open window. “Hey, I think I’m going to head back. I’m starting to get pretty cold.” 

“Sure,” Carmilla says. “I think the end speech will be in about half an hour anyway.” 

Susan gives her a devastating look. “Wait, are you saying we have to listen to the general _again?_ ”

“Yes, why do you think I kept one cigarette?” 

“I would smoke one too if I had known that,” Susan jokes. “But seriously, I should start looking for JP. M-my husband. He might be looking for me.”

Carmilla nods. “You shouldn’t let him worry. I’m just going to smoke this one before heading back.”

She nods and stands up. “It was nice meeting you, Carmilla.”

“Hey, I’ve got an idea. We could write. Or whatever,” Carmilla says, face carefully blank, like she is worried about seeming too enthusiastic.

Susan smiles. “Sure.” 

She rummages through her purse and finds a pen and paper. A doctor always has these things at hand. She quickly writes her address on it and gives it to Carmilla. 

Carmilla smiles at her. It’s small, but it’s the most genuine one yet. “Thanks. I mean, you never know when having a doctor as a friend might come in handy.” 

“Lets not get too sappy now,” Susan says with a laugh. “I look forward to your letter, Carmilla.” 

She walks away, but before she leaves the room Carmilla calls her again.

“Hey Doc!”

Susan turns around with a smile on her lips. She already likes the new nickname more than her real name. “What?”

Carmilla sticks her last cigarette between her upper lip and noise to make it look like a moustache. 

“I truly have to say, that I really enjoyed the pleasure of your company tonight,” she grumbles in a slow and low voice to mimic the general. 

They both start laughing. The cigarette falls out of its position and Carmilla quickly grabs it before it falls to the ground.

“Carmilla, you look like a cool and mysterious girl, but you’re actually just a giant dork.” 

“I would be offended if it weren’t so true,” Carmilla says with a smile and she sticks the cigarette in her mouth. “I’ll see you again, Doc.”

\--

“Oh there you are, Susan!” JP says relieved as she meets him in the crowd. “I was starting to get worried.”

“No need to worry, I was just making some friends,” she says with a smile.

“Oh really?” Jean-Pierre says, raising his eyebrows in surprise as he brings his face closer to her ear. “At least one of us had fun tonight then.” 

She laughs. “What? Are you saying that you didn’t enjoy the general’s company?”

JP gives her a smile. “As much as I respect him as a general, social interaction isn’t his strong-suit.” 

“Who would’ve thought.” 

Their conversation gets interrupted by a loud shriek of the microphone and a cough from the general. The crowd falls silent and turns to face the general, who is standing on a stage in the middle of the big marble staircase. His voice echoes through the large hallway. There must be over five hundred people gathered here right now.

“My fellow attendees of the Silas Conference of 1927. I am greatly honoured by your presence here tonight. I truly have to say, it has been a great pleasure for me and the men under my command, to enjoy your heart-warming company this evening. I would like to close off the night by thanking-”

Susan chuckles slightly at the incredible accuracy of Carmilla’s impression. The guy _truly_ is a deadpan. She lets her gaze wander over the room, hoping this speech won’t take as long as the previous one. She stops when she sees Carmilla standing very formally on the first floor, in the elite section. She barely recognizes her. Her body language is the exact opposite from the way she was lounging in the window. She looks professional, like she has done this a million times before. Like she has to behave in a way that isn’t like _her_. It feels weird looking at it, until she sees the woman standing next to her. She might not be German, but she recognizes the woman next to Carmilla immediately. Lilita Morgan. Media magnat. She established a newspaper when she was 17 and expanded her business greatly over the years. She has incredible influence in the entire field of media. Ms. Morgan must be one of the most powerful people in all of Germany, and her influence even reaches other countries in Europe. Suddenly she understands why Carmilla reacted the way she did when talking about her mother. This is not a woman you want to cross. 

Carmilla’s eyes meets hers and she gives her a small smile of recognition. She rolls her eyes and Susan smiles. Since she is in the crowd she can be a bit less subtle. She brings her hand in front of her mouth and pretends she is yawning. She can see Carmilla holding back her laughter. It must be horrible to stand in such a spotlight. 

Carmilla mimics the posture of the general by straightening up and putting her hands on her back. She stretches her neck and makes a blank face. Susan has to do everything in her power to hold in her laughter. The impression is spot on. Carmilla gives her a smirk. However Susan isn’t the only one who catches it as her mother turns to Carmilla and gives her a disapproving look. Carmilla’s immediately drops the act and stares remorsefully at the ground. Susan doesn’t really want to know what kind of scolding Carmilla will have to endure once they are out of the public eye. Susan wonders how much of that last cigarette was meant to help endure the general, and how much was to help face her mother.

\--

 _8 April 1927_ \- JP pulls the car over and they get out on the muddy grass. It’s a sunny day, but the damp of yesterday’s rain is still in the air. They walk towards their future home. There are still a few things that need to be adjusted, but in about a month they can move in. It looks a lot like their old houses. It’s big, with lots of rooms and an even bigger garden, like all the houses in this area. 

“I can’t believe we’re finally coming back,” Susan says, breaking the silence.

“It’s been long enough,” JP says, squeezing her hand. 

She smiles at him. Since they couldn’t wait to return, they have rented a room at a local hotel for the next month. It felt weird to be at her parent’s in Montpellier any longer. Montpellier is nothing like Péronne. 

“I want to visit my parent’s house,” Susan states.

“Susan-” JP tries, but he can see the determination in her eyes. 

“Just a quick peek.”

He nods. “Fine.” 

While walking along the road they see shimmering bullets in the fields. Suddenly the war feels closer than it has been for years. They both recognize this part of the road and from this point they should be able to see Susan’s house, but there is nothing left where it should be standing. 

Susan halts JP and she takes a deep breath. 

“I’m so sorry, Susan.”

“I…” she gets stuck in her own words. “I can’t believe _everything_ was bombed.”

Jean-Pierre puts his arm around her and tries to comfort her. “Seems like the villagers cleaned the rubble though.”

“Yeah, seems like.”

The silence between them doesn’t feel as comfortable anymore.

“Lets head back,” Jean-Pierre suggests.

“Don’t you want to see what’s left of your old house?”

He shakes his head. “No. I’ve seen what war can do. My parent’s house is a memory I don’t want to get mixed up with this mess.”

“That makes sense,” Susan mumbles. But she had to see the state of her old house with her own eyes. 

JP puts out his arm. “Shall we take a walk, somewhere far away from here?”

“Gladly.”

\--

They walk through green meadows that are all too familiar. Yet it has changed nonetheless. It has lost its innocence. The ground is still scattered with bullets and occasionally even a grenade. The green meadows aren’t that green any longer, the tracks from countless tanks marking muddy lines across the landscape.

“I still prefer it over Montpellier,” Susan suddenly says. “At least here you can see the impact a war can have. In the South I felt like I lived in ignorance. As if the war never existed.”

Jean-Pierre nods in agreement. “If only we could’ve married here.” 

Susan looks at him with a shimmering in her eyes. “Well, technically we got engaged twice, right?” 

A grin lights up his face. “Are you saying you want to get married right now?”

“Yes,” Susan says as she turns to grasp Jean-Pierre’s hands in her own. “Do you, Jean-Pierre Armitage, take me as your wife. Again?”

“Yes I will,” JP says. “And will you, Susan Armitage, Doctor LaFontaine from Péronne still take me as your husband?”

“Yes I will,” Susan smiles and pecks his lips. 

“Excellent!” Jean-Pierre says. “So now is the part I carry you right?”

“What?” Susan breathes out, but JP has her already in his arms. 

Susan rolls with his eyes. “Please put me down, you doofus.” 

“I can’t!” Jean-Pierre smiles playfully as he starts walking through the grass. “It’s tradition.”

“You proposed to me with an _onion_ ,” Susan laughs. “I don’t think our marriage is very traditional.” 

JP shrugs. “I’m not going to stop carrying you if that’s what you’re asking. The ground is too dirty for a doctor like yourself.” 

Susan sighs and gives in. He can carry her, for now. They walk down the hills when Susan seems to recognize the surroundings. 

“JP look!” she points at a ruin in the distance, her breath catching. “The watermill.”

“God Almighty, it’s still there,” Jean-Pierre says unbelieving. 

He lets Susan glide out of his arms and with locked hands they slowly walk towards it. 

There is only one wall left, the rest is a pile of rubble, just some rotten wood and broken bricks, but it’s still there. Even the war couldn’t completely destroy it. 

Susan slowly touches the cold, wet brick wall and she feels tears gather in her eyes. She gives JP a look and he seems to have teared up as well. He puts his arm around her and she lets her head rest against his shoulder. It’s so similar, and yet so different. 

“It doesn’t feel like home,” Susan says with disappointment in her voice. 

“We’ll build a new home,” Jean-Pierre says and he kisses the side of her head. “Together.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We will post Chapter 6 of The Great Iron Sky **March 18**. Which means we will have a short one week break. Thank you for your support and until the 18th!

**Author's Note:**

> Part 2 will be posted on Wednesday at 5:00pm EST. After that we will go back to [The Great Iron Sky](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3176514/chapters/6900096). For more information please check the [Carmilla 30s AU tag](https://www.tumblr.com/tagged/carmilla-30s-au) on Tumblr.


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